Cancer
by Chemically Romantic
Summary: A 'muggle' disease takes everything Harry has to give. Simple one shot based on the song Cancer. A Harry and Ginny fic.


**Cancer**

_**Author's Note; **My first attempt at writing a fic in a long time. I'm not too pleased with the outcome, but the song inspired me. I don't own Harry Potter or its characters, nor do I own My Chemical Romance or the song Cancer, no matter how badly I would like to own Gerard Way. _

_Turn away,_

_If you could get me a drink_

_Of water 'cause my lips are chapped and faded_

_Call my aunt Marie_

_Help her gather all my things_

_And bury me in all my favorite colors,_

_My sisters and my brothers, still,_

_I will not kiss you,_

_'Cause the hardest part of this is leaving you._

She moved like a ghost, barely even alive to the rest of the world. She passed the blurred faces on the street, dismissing their queries with a wave of her hand. She was a woman on a mission; she knew where she was going and no one was going to stop her. She needed to be there, even if it meant giving her own life. She held an obligation to a certain someone, and she promised she'd be there for him. It was simply a promise she would never dream of making, especially in a time like this when he needed her more than anything. Besides, he meant the world to her. You're not going to go breaking a promise to someone you love that much. She slowly passed street signs, barely glancing up to read the names; she had taken the trip so many times she now knew the route by heart. The slight autumn wind nipped at her face as she pulled her cloak tighter around her neck, fastening the silver buttons the held it in place. She never looked up, until she passed a lonely store window. The sun had peaked out from behind the grey clouds, giving the window a sort of mirror effect. She stepped closer, her mouth silently dropping with every step. After years of not caring, she finally saw herself as everyone else saw her. She hadn't looked in a mirror since the dreadful news had reached her ears.

Ginny Weasley gaped at the reflection she saw. Her once fiery red hair had morphed into a lick-luster mop of grey and amber. Her pale sullen cheeks no longer held the healthy pink blush many other young woman carried her age. Overall, she looked old, despite her young age of twenty-five. She was a shadow of what she once was. No longer would the girl run about through the fields behind her house. No longer would a laugh escape her pale lips. The only thing that came now were tears. She was a mess, her mother told her so every day. She knew it as well. She could feel herself giving up with each growing day. She just simply lacked the fire and the spirit to fight back; she had given up all hope. Shaking her head, she pressed on; her appearance wasn't going to stop her from reaching him, for she knew he wouldn't care about what she looked like; he was far worse off than she was anyway.

She turned abruptly, keeping her head down. "Purge and Dowse, Ltd., my arse!" she huffed. Without a second glance, she pushed her way through the dirty window, not caring who saw her. Keeping her eyes on the ground, she took her usual route through the lobby, ignoring the several "Morning, Ginny!" "Glad to see you again, dear" comments. While other visitors were forced to stop and check in with the welcome witch, Ginny kept moving; she had been here enough times to be recognized by name. Tall and lithe, she maneuvered her body through the clumps of people, over hearing the occasional complaint or wail from a deserted mother. Still, she kept her eyes on the floor and her mind on her thoughts. She didn't need to bother with the other people near her anymore; she was alone. Climbing up several flights of stairs, she finally reached where she needed to be. The healers at St. Mungo's couldn't decide where to put her patient, settling on Spell Damage ward, level four. However, they all knew he didn't belong there, they just needed a place to put him until his time was up.

Taking a few turns, the girl finally raised her head. He had been given a private room, simply for who he was. She took in a deep breath, pausing outside of his door. Overcome with the strong urge to turn around and leave, she remembered what she had promised him and swallowed her pride. She opened the door, leaving a crack just large enough to fit her small body through, closing the door behind her. She crossed the room, stopping in front of his bed. She felt the tears come again; she couldn't bear to see him like this. The placed her hand on his leg, whispering his name with care. "Harry? Wake up."

_Now turn away,_

_'Cause I'm awful just to see_

_'Cause all my hairs abandoned all my body,_

_Oh, my agony,_

_Know that I will never marry,_

_Baby, I'm just soggy from the chemo_

_But counting down the days to go_

_It just ain't living_

_And I just hope you know_

She watched him stir from his sleep, the blankets that covered his head lowering to his chest. His eyes fluttered open. She bit her lip, looking over his appearance. His hair was gone, yes, but what bothered her the most were his eyes. Harry Potter once had the eyes of a flirty teenager. They had shone with the light of an everlasting candle. However, the illness had robbed his eyes of their warmth, leaving two faded orbs of dull green.

"Morning, Gin," he managed to pull out, his eyes floating to the window instead of the girl. It was always like this. She would come, and he, too ashamed of what he had become would ignore her, treating her like she wasn't good enough for the savior of the wizarding world. Still, she knew it wasn't his fault. The illness had taken so much out of him, everyday was a struggle to survive. There were times where he wouldn't wake for days, his internals at a constant battle; a battle they were quickly losing, a fruitless struggle, if you will. He had told them so many times that he didn't want to live anymore, and she, selfishly, had kept him alive, just to be sure he was still there. She felt responsible for the shadow of what he once was, and it tore her up inside.

"Harry. No matter what happens, always remember that I love you. Please," she felt her voice break as she circled his bed, kneeling on the floor closer to his face. He looked at her, nodding slowly.

"I know," he whispered, looking at her for the first time in days. With feeble hands, he stroked her face, wanting so much to put her out of the evident misery she had been through. He studied her face, swallowing the tears he held. "You have to let me go, Ginny." Was all he said; she would know what he felt.

She shook her head. "There's still so much I have to say; so much we have to do."

"Look at me, Ginny. Do you think there's a chance we'll be able to get to do that sort of stuff? You heard what they said. This is a muggle disease, and apparently something I was born with. This isn't something magic can cure."

"Then we'll take you to a muggle hospital! We can beat this, I know we can," the tears came now, covering her face in the sticky wet film.

"No, we can't. Ginny, I did what I was supposed to do. My time's up. You have your whole life a head of you. Go and live it," he spoke calmly; the voice of reason in the hectic situation they had been thrown into. He held her gaze, trying desperately to make her understand. The couple sat like that for what seemed like and endless period of time before she finally nodded.

"Are you sure?"

_That if you say (if you say)_

_Goodbye today (goodbye today)_

_I'd ask you to be true (cause I'd ask you to be true)_

He thought for a moment, pulling his hand away from her face. "I'm sure. Go, Gin. Please," he turned away, expressing his feelings the only way he knew how; through his actions. Finally understanding, she stood up and slipped out of the room without a glance back. Once outside the room, she slumped against the wall, reduced to a sobbing pile of flesh, refusing all offerings of help. Ginny Weasley was already a broken woman; he had just cut the last thread.

Hours later, she wandered out of the building, taking the familiar route back to her small flat. That was the last day she would visit Harry Potter, the last day she would think about him, just as he wanted. The only time she would think of him again would be on her 24th birthday, the day he had finally passed. The papers couldn't get enough of his death, sending her constant reminders of what he went through; the pain he felt. They explained his disease as something called Cancer, a term she had come accustomed to over the last few years. She attended his funeral, one of the few people who actually felt what he had went through. She would wander through the crowds of people, dodging the whispers and offers of sympathy; she didn't want to hear any of it. She was going to live her life, just as he told her. She was going to hold that last promise she had just as she held the promise she had made before he died. She would go on. She would win.

_'Cause the hardest part of this is leaving you_

_'Cause the hardest part of this is leaving you_


End file.
